Circles
by skywise012000
Summary: Chris is going home. V slight Gene/Sam and Chris/Shaz Warning - character death but it's canon so it's OK!


CIRCLES

**CIRCLES**

Author :Skywise

Pairing :None really – a bit of Gene/Sam & Chris/Shaz

Rating :White Cortina

Word Count:2,200 ish

Spoilers :1:08 and the appearance of a character from A2A

Warnings :Character Death (but it's canon)

Disclaimer :None of the characters are mine worse luck. They all belong to Kudos/BBC

Summary :Chris is going home

--o0o--

The digital alarm clock next to the bed flicked over and a horribly cheerful voice rang out.

"Good morning. It's seven am on Tuesday the seventh of June and here's the news read by . . . "

An arm reached out and hit the snooze button bringing blessed silence back to the room.

Chris Skelton turned and snuggled in closer to his wife, trying to glean a last few minutes of peace. Shaz murmured softly and pressed back against him, still half asleep. Her body was warm and soft as he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her in tighter, drowsily laying his face against her shoulder and drifting on waves of not-quite-sleep.

Nine minutes later the alarm sounded again and Shaz groaned and yawned, elbowing Chris in the ribs.

"Your turn." She said through an enormous yawn.

Chris dutifully hauled himself out of bed, grabbed his dressing gown and padded downstairs in bare feet.

In the kitchen he filled the kettle and swilled out a couple of mugs. Whilst he waited for the kettle to boil he gazed bleary-eyed around the kitchen. It was filled with boxes that had yet to be unpacked, random items scattered across the worktops where they'd hunted yesterday for kettle, mugs and tea bags.

"God, I 'ate moving" he thought to himself, picturing the other rooms in the house, each filed with its own quota of boxes and packing cases all waiting to be opened and sorted.

"Good luck wi' it, Shaz." He muttered, hunting around for the bag of sugar.

Cup of tea in hand, Chris stumbled his way around the suitcases in the hall and squeezed his way past the bookshelves and sofas shoved haphazardly into the living room. Taking a deep breath he opened the curtains and gazed out, a wide smile breaking over his face as he took in the view.

At last, he'd made it, even though he'd done it alone, the old team having disbanded long ago.

The Guv (Gene Hunt would always be the Guv to Chris) had retired not long after DI Drake disappeared. Said he couldn't stand the thought of training up another DI and, anyway, having already lost two he said he didn't think the Force would trust him with another one.

Chris sighed.

The Guv had never been the same after losing the Boss (and Sam Tyler would always be the Boss to Chris). With Tyler gone something seemed to break inside the Guv. He was never as strong again, never as sure of himself as he had been. Then, later, after the Scarman Report and DI Drake had finished with him he'd been . . . Chris searched for the right word . . . _diminished _somehow. He'd said that there wasn't room for his type of copper any more and he didn't want to play the game by their soft Southern rules. So he'd taken early retirement and just, well, gone.

Chris had tried to find him – had turned London and Manchester upside down – but he'd been met with a wall of silence. Gene Hunt had vanished into the world and Chris felt that his own life was poorer for the loss.

Ray had retired not long afterwards. He knew he'd never survive in this brave new force without Gene's protection. Ray hadn't vanished though, Chris knew exactly where he was – living the life of Riley running a beach bar in Fiji.

Chris laughed softly to himself as he remembered _that_ conversation with Ray.

"Yer goin' where?"

"Fiji, Chris, Fiji."

"Where the bloody hell is Fiji?"

"In the South Seas yer great div. It'll be brilliant! All them native girls in hula skirts wi' their tits 'anging out. Sunshine, rum and tottie smothered in coconut oil. Fan-Bloody-Tastic!"

Ray's eyes were shining with the thought of all those dusky maidens just waiting for him to go and pick them up.

"It'll be a new start, Chris, a new life. I've spent half my life cleaning up after scum so's other people can live nice safe little lives and now it's my turn to have what _I_ want."

Chris, however, hadn't been so happy.

"But . . ."

"But wha'?"

"It's the other side of the world, Ray. So far off. I'll never see yer. What'll I do, here, wi'out you or the Guv?"

Ray's smile softened as he looked at Chris.

"You've got a wife now, Chris, soon be a kiddie on the way no doubt. You get yer 'ed down and learn all about this 'modern policing' shite. You'll be alright, mate. You'll get on fine. The Guv were right. Me an' 'im, we're dinosaurs now. Best leave us go, eh?"

Even after all these years, Chris felt tears pricking at his eyes as he sank into a well of memories, reliving his youth.

Suddenly needing to see their faces, he began rummaging through boxes until he found the old photo album he was looking for. Flicking through the pages he was struck at last by one particular image, an old photo that must have been taken in the mid-seventies.

Chris felt a bittersweet melancholy rise inside him as he gazed at the black and white picture in his hand. It seemed odd to him that the photo should be monochrome when his memories of that time were so vibrantly coloured.

Four faces smiled out of the picture, full of pride and strength. The picture had been taken in the pub. Chris remembered that night so clearly. It was the night they'd beaten the RCS in the darts final. The Guv had got so pissed he could hardly stand up so the Boss had his arms around the Guv's waist to steady him, both of them grinning like lunatics, genuinely happy. Ray was holding up the trophy with one hand, the other slung around Chris' shoulder. Chris himself was reaching for the trophy but Ray was holding it up just out of reach.

Manc Lions, all of them. So young, so confident. Even the Guv's face was clear of the shadows that would later creep into his soul.

Chris could almost hear the noise, smell the stale beer and fags – the unique scent of the Railway Arms – and he wondered if the pub was still there.

Lost in the past, Chris didn't hear his wife come up behind him, starting when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dropped a kiss on his (seemingly) ever expanding bald spot.

"God, that's an old photo." She said. Chris grunted in response.

"Ray looked much better with straight hair didn't he?" Shaz rambled on. "That perm did nothing for him. And, blimey! Look at the Guv! That's Sam with him isn't it?"

Chris grunted again.

"I wish I'd got to meet him." Shaz mused. "Sam Tyler – the man who broke Gene Hunt's heart!"

Chris spun around to face her, mouth open in astonishment.

"What? What did you say?"

Shaz laughed softly and pointed at the photo.

"Well, just look at them, Chris."

Chris shook his head, confused.

"No, Love," he explained, "it were DI Drake what broke him. He loved her so much and when she left . . . "

Shaz laughed again, interrupting him.

"Oh Chris. He never loved her – fancied her maybe. She drove him demented and fascinated him, but he never looked at her the way he's looking at Sam in that picture. That's the look of a man in love."

Chris stared wildly down at the photo in his hands and, as if he were seeing it for the first time, little details began to jump out at him. The Boss' arms were around the Guv's waist and the Guv was leaning into the embrace, his own arm encircling the Boss' shoulders. Their heads were close together, the Guv's eyes sliding away from the camera to fix on his DI's face. Their grins were identical but Chris suddenly realised that they weren't smiling for the camera: they were smiling for each other.

All the tiny wrong notes, the inconsistencies that he'd never remarked on at the time, suddenly fell into place and he knew, _knew,_ that Shaz was right.

"Well, I'll be buggered." He breathed. "Call meself a detective and I never twigged, not for all them years."

"It doesn't change anything though does it?" Shaz asked, anxious in case she'd destroyed something precious for him, somehow coloured his memories of his lost comrades.

Chris gazed thoughtfully at the photo again and then looked up at her and smiled.

"No love, it doesn't change a thing."

Shaz dropped another kiss on his head and ruffled his thinning grey hair.

"Come on you," she said, "big day today. Go and have your shower and I'll make some more tea – this cup's gone cold."

--o0o--

After breakfast Chris stood in the hallway as Shaz straightened his tie and smoothed her hands over his shoulders.

"There you go, Love." She smiled up at him. "Nervous?"

Chris shook his head. "Nah," he grinned, "excited."

A quick kiss and he was off, driving through the drowsy summer-quiet streets until he turned the final corner and there it stood. His heart lifted and he finally felt the weight of the long years of exile slip from his shoulders. After sixteen years of working streets he never _really_ knew or understood, Chris Skelton had come home.

He drove around the car park for a while until he finally found the space marked "Reserved – DCI C Skelton." Locking the car he made his way over to the flight of steps up to the entrance.

He paused, eyes closed, savouring the moment and allowing the feel of the familiar building to wash over him. Opening his eyes he let his gaze wander fondly up the sides of the ugly, grey concrete exterior. Home.

As his eyes reached the roof level he thought he saw something. Squinting against the bright sunlight he realised that there was movement on the roof. His eyes widened with shock as there, silhouetted against the cerulean sky, a figure came flying off the roof of the building, hurtling downwards, arms and legs splayed out as if the lunatic thought he could fly, heading straight towards where Chris was standing.

Just before the figure crashed into the unforgiving tarmac, a pair of strong hands wrapped themselves around Chris' shoulders and pulled him away. Chris staggered as he heard the impact of the body, almost falling as the hands at his shoulders let him go and a burly shape barrelled past him, heading for the body on the floor.

Shaking, Chris hurried towards the accident, dreading what he would find there but, when he reached the prone form, miraculously the jumper's body appeared undamaged. Chris' unknown saviour was kneeling next to the jumper, holding his hand.

Chris leant over and saw the jumper's face.

His mind completely shut down for a second or two, unable to process the information it had received. He blinked and stared again, straight into the calm, dead face of Sam Tyler.

"Impossible! Impossible!" His mind yammered. Tyler looked exactly the same as he had done in the photo Chris had been looking at not two hours ago. The photo taken thirty years previously.

Chris took an involuntary step backwards, shaking his head in disbelief. He looked again towards the body but found himself gazing instead into a pair of sorrowing green eyes.

"Don't fret Skelton," the well-remembered, well-loved voice soothed. "Don't try and understand it or you'll go mad – I nearly did! He's where he should be, and so are you."

"G-Guv?"

"We've all come full circle, Chris. Sam has gone back to me and you've come home to take his place. Everything is as it should be."

Gene turned and began to walk away as Chris called after him.

"But what about you, Guv? Where do you belong? I don't understand!"

Gene hesitated then looked back at Chris.

"Don't you worry about me, Chris. I'll be wherever I'm needed."

Smiling, Gene melted away into the gathering crowd.

_fin_


End file.
